


Spare Son

by lockerpaint



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Parenthood, crowley can't just leave a baby at the hands of satanic nuns!, so the only thing to do is raise him himself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 14:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19769716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockerpaint/pseuds/lockerpaint
Summary: After Crowley successfully swaps the diplomat's son with the Antichrist, he finds himself with an extra baby. Realizing he can't just abandon the boy, he goes for option B: raising the baby with his best friend.





	Spare Son

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first traditional multi-part fanfiction, so cut me some slack if I don't have all the ropes figured out!  
> I just wanted to see the husbands try their hand at raising a child, and the canon conveniently has an extra one lying around.

It had been a couple of decades since Crowley last felt fear. To make it even more worrying, this wasn't that dollarstore fear of God nonsense, the kind streetcorner preachers love to harp on about, and it wasn't the fear of the unknown either. The source of the fear happened to be very known, and very specific, and not very God-like at all. It was the baby in the backseat of his car.

The unnamed tyke, drifting in and out of consciousness like a drowning man, was the Antichrist. He would bring about the Apocalypse in a little over a decade.

Crowley's car slowly crept past the 160 kilometers per hour mark, and was making good time towards 170.

"Why me?" he muttered, although the question had already been answered. "Why me?"

The baby did not say anything in response. He was asleep, and was also an infant, in no state to humor such rhetorical questions.

Promptly on schedule, Crowley arrived at the Abbey of the Chattering Order of St. Beryl (which in its more competent moments doubled as a birthing hospital) where he had been told to exchange the baby for that of a foreign ambassador's. Nothing like good old American politics to bring about the endtimes, after all. Someone in Hell had probably gotten a promotion out of that idea, as well as a good chuckle.

And so, in a small convent in Northern England, Crowley handed over the Son of Satan, swaddled in red blankets and resting in a wicker picnic basket, to a rather unholy woman of faith. The nun in question seemed ecstatic.

"Do you think he'll remember me?" she asked, cooing over the little Prince of Darkness.

"Better pray he doesn't," Crowley said, already making his way out of the room in what could generously be called a beeline, if he didn't walk with such unnecessary swagger.

As he swang open the front door he hit, rather loudly and suddenly, the ambassador himself, who had been standing outside as his wife gave birth.

"Quite sorry," the man said, holding his nose. Crowley waved his hand before it could start bleeding, performing what would have once been considered a small miracle.

"Don't worry about it," Crowley said, trying to step past him.

"Is it done then?" the ambassador asked, looking anxious.

Crowley was hit with a twinge of surprise. Surely the man didn't actually know what was happening. Crowley had been under the impression that the boy was to be raised by regular, non-Satanic parents. It would have been rather sloppy for someone to let that slip to him. 

He suddenly felt quite silly for acting so covert. There was nothing to hide.

"Yes, it is." 

The ambassador looked absolutely thrilled.

"Oh, and, and is the baby healthy? Got all his fingers and toes?"

"Of course he does, you think I'd deliver a subpar baby?" Crowley practically hissed.

"That's such a relief!" The ambassador slouched back slightly, taking out a cigarette. "Oh, I suppose I shouldn't smoke these anymore. For the baby's health."

"No," Crowley said, once again attempting to move past him. "I suppose not."

"Of course you'd say that, you're the doctor," the ambassador laughed, "So can I go in?"

Ah. So he didn't know. 

"I'd give it some more time. They're, uh, cleaning your wife up. Not a pretty scene."

"Oh! Oh, of course. That makes sense."

"I'm sure a nurse will come out soon," Crowley said, finally making it past the ambassador towards his car.

"Thank you so much!" the ambassador called after him. "You can't understand what you've done for us!"

Crowley, actually, understood exactly what he had done to that poor man and his wife. 

As he got into the car, he started to sense a second feeling wash over him. One that he hadn't properly felt in centuries.

He watched as that unimpressive-looking man reached back towards his pocket, probably for a cigarette, and then seemed to think better of it. Not that there would have been anything to find. With a second wave of Crowley's hand, the little box was gone, and the ambassador found himself mildly repulsed by the thought of nicotine.

It wasn't like a demon to feel so guilty.

When, later that night, the nuns went to discreetly dispose of the spare baby, they found the bassinet empty. The baby in question had taken over that coveted spot in the back of Crowley's car, crying quite a bit louder than his predecessor would have.


End file.
